Today, the one year anniversary of losing you...

You've been gone a year today, our little Willie.  When you left us that day,  your lifeless little body lying on the daybed, I tried to envision my life without you.  I felt a sob caught in my throat as I tried to suck in some air, my red rimmed eyes filled with an endless supply of salty tears and my heart... so heavy.  

Dad and I wandered about the house as you lay there, trying to find a place to set ourselves down but no comfy sofa or cushy chair could relieve the emptiness.  We needed to decide on where we would place you for your eternal rest but neither of us could utter the words, neither of us could speak. 

We hadn't slept more than a few hours the previous night, trying desperately to  comfort you as you coughed, your eyes wide with fear, looking to us for some answers, some relief.  We had none to give.  We could only give love.  You accepted it, you gave it back, your little paw resting on our leg or your little chin nuzzled into our warm flesh.

Each morning brought hope those last few weeks when we'd go outside and the coughing stopped.  You didn't cough when you were standing.  You'd mosey around the yard as you always did, sniffing your favorite spots, spritzing your favorite spots and stopping periodically to lock eyes with me as I wandered about with you, my heart breaking.

I heard him flip the switch for the basement lights and moments later, Dad was in the yard with a shovel. Through blurry eyes he sized up the exact spot where he'd plunge the shovel and begin to dig.  Looking out the glass of the kitchen door, I knew I had to go outside with him. I couldn't let him do this alone.  He had done it two times before in the 21 years we've been together, for your brother Bart in 1996 and then again, your brother Ben in 2008.  And now, my dear WorldWideWillie...you.

We gathered your furry little body in our arms, the little green St. Patrick's Day bow still attached to your collar and gently placed you in the ground, our tears dropping on top of you and your favorite giant brown bear.  It was then that I knew I would grieve for no more than one year, that I would write this blog, bringing it to an end on the one year anniversary, which is today, my little love.

Now as I write in a new blog every few days about a new chapter in our lives: www.worldwidewaftage.blogspot.com  I can finally say goodbye to you.

Saying goodbye to sorrow, a conscious choice to stop grieving requires a certain strength I didn't know that I possessed.  Ironically, this past year or so has brought a rash of sorrowful events, not dissimilar from those that others experience in their lives, not so unique and not so surprising.  And when I cried for you, my Willie,  I gathered in all the sorrows from the past years, the sorrows from a lifetime and grieved them along with the loss of you.

So as we waft our way into our new adventures, we let you go, we let the sorrow go and bring with us, into the future, the lessons we learned, the love we've known and the precious memories of you.  

A year ago today...

Dear little Willie, it was a year ago today that we went to the groomer for your usual St. Patrick's Day haircut.  You proudly strutted out the door fully aware of the little green bow attached to your collar and how handsome you looked.  

We had an appointment with our vet, Dr. Waag, later in the day to check into the cough you had that awakened us several times each night over the past week.  As little dogs age, that often develop problems with the little bones in the trachea which may cause coughing. The vet didn't sound worried when I called after the first night of coughing saying to give it a few days and see if it went away.  It didn't. 

You were nervous as always when we walked into Dr. Waag's foreboding clinic.  You sniffed around for a few seconds settling under the bench where I usually sat  when waiting.  You always loved sitting on my lap but here you were nervous, preferring to sit on the floor near my legs, your cold little nose tapping my leg every so often, your little front leg touching mine.  In an animated tone, I reassured you that nothing bad would happen.  But you remembered the last painful shots you'd had here and how tightly we held you to keep your from squirming.

Dr. Waag warmly greeted us while walking us to the big scale.  You stepped on without hesitation remembering that it was your Mom that hated the scale at the doctor's office, not you.  You'd lost 2 pounds.  We had been walking everyday all winter so maybe that attributed to the weight loss. No big deal, right?

They took you out of the exam room for an x-ray while you looked at me with those expressive eyes, asking, "Why are they taking me away from you?"  Again I reassured you and minutes later you were back in the room with me, anxiously sniffing around the room, contemplating a few spritzes to which I gently said, "no bad potty." You came and sat by me, again your little nose tapping my leg. Ten minutes later, Dr. Waag came back to the exam room with a sad look on his face, one that we had seen three years earlier, the day we let your brother BenBenBen go to doggie heaven.

The news was heart wrenching.  You had a mass that filled your chest cavity, pressing onto your lungs and heart.  We'd have to wait several days to have the U of M veterinary department review the test results and determine the prognosis.

The next few days were a haze. Dad and I speculated on the outcome trying not to imagine the worst. The coughing at night escalated to awakening us every 2 hours during which you'd jump off the bed, frightened and confused until the frenzied coughing jag ended and gingerly climb up your pet steps back on the bed nuzzling up against me. Our hearts were breaking for you, for us.  

Five days later, Dr. Waag called with the worst possible news.  You would only last two more weeks until your heart and lungs were crowded out by the savage, malignant tumor.  We had imagined, months, not weeks.  Surgery and traditional treatment were not viable options.  Our precious little WorldWideWillie's life was about to end. 

I took this photo of you the night we got the worst news. 

You dragged your toys onto our bed, up the two sets of pet steps 

in order to rest your weary head.

The rest of the story, the 17 days you lasted, as detailed in the beginning of this blog, were some of the most bittersweet, memorable days of my life spending every precious moment with you, whether up with you all night while you coughed or, during the days when you seldom coughed.  You figured out that you wouldn't cough when you were standing so you often stood next to me wherever I was, your eyes half shut with exhaustion, teetering on your little legs.  

We continued our daily walks, however slowly, with many rest stops in between.  The walks made you happy, made me cry.  We went to Petco, your favorite. We went for rides in the car with the windows open so you could stick your head out and "bite the air." We sat outside in the warm sun, your head turned skyward "sniffing the air.  We didn't sleep.  We didn't care.  We just wanted to be with you.

So, I write this to you today to tell you that we haven't forgotten you and that we thank you for the lessons we learned about unconditional love, a concept nearly impossible to behold among us humans... a gift that Mother Nature has bestowed upon us humans enabling us to love her amazing creatures, blending us into one family that fulfills our lives in a magical way.

On the anniversary of the day you left us, April 9, 2011,  I will write for the final time in this blog to begin a new chapter in our lives, a new blog.

(Please visit us at: www.worldwidewaftage.blogspot.com) 

I will let you go, our dear Willie, not the memories but the sorrow, not the endearing stories, but the pain.  

Your last day...

I can't put these three things away...

OK, it's a bit odd, these three items sitting on our bar counter top; the half of the dog cookie with the DREADED PILL still stuck in the frosting that DadDadDad found in between the sofa cushions on the last day of your life; one of the homemade dog cookies I baked this past Christmas that I found hidden in a shoe in my closet; the beef bone you so carefully maintained outside all winter for which I posted a video here, that our grandson Vincent found when looking for Easter eggs , that you had reburied in an obscure spot in the yard a few days before you died.  I can't throw them away. 

The toys, except the two I have kept near me, your snake and Tiger Woods, went into the attic with the two sets of pet steps along with your "pet bed" (as we so lovingly called it, when your eyes were sleepy but you weren't ready for our bed), your water bowl, harness and leash, all painfully put out of sight in a futile effort to minimize the sorrow.

These three items remain in plain view for five weeks now, haunting me, reminding me

of your busy little life, filled with the plotting and the planning of the daily

routines you so methodically entertained.

We miss you WorldWideWillie.  We miss you chasing the h..o..n...k...e...r...s off of the lawn, now hugging our shoreline with a multitude of babies in tow.  We miss saying "get that bird" when the heron sat on the dock, as if awaiting your enthusiastic bark to send him on his way for which

he honked at you as his massive wings took flight. 

The bald eagle has swooped into the trees, looking down for you, hoping to lift you up with his foreboding talons, for his tasty meal and you aren't there.  We miss your inquisitive sniffing of the rip rap shoreline hoping to encounter a dead fish that you could drag onto the lawn to roll on  so we could laugh.  We miss sitting on the dock with a line in the water with you eagerly affixing your gaze on the red bobber, awaiting the catch of the day.

A few days ago, on a rare warm day, I sat in the rocking lawn chair, expecting you to jump up any moment bestowing those slurpy kisses on my face while firmly planting your butt on a comfy spot on my lap.  How can I ever enjoy sitting there soaking up the warmth

of the sun without you?

Eventually, these three little items will be gently wrapped and placed in the attic along with your other things, with the expectation of someday rediscovering them and to be reminded of how hard it was to let you go.  After all, its only been five weeks, and they will be put away when I stop counting the weeks on my fingers since you've been gone... and feeling the heaviness in

my heart without you. 

Who are you, reading this blog??? Please tell your story in comments...

I began writing this blog about the last days of our precious WorldWideWillie's life at the end of March.  As a result I have experienced so much comfort knowing there were readers out there, sharing our joy, laughter and sorrow. 

Each day I have looked up the stats to discover how many have read the most recent post.  It warms my heart and I thank you. Each time I write, the readership increases, sometimes substantially. I am wondering if I should continue posting. 

Please post here on "comments" and tell me a little about your story. 

Thank you with all of our hearts.

Letter to our Willie

My dear Willie,

Through a river of tears that flow from my sorrowful heart, my view of the world has changed without you.

When you were with me, I maneuvered my days around getting to you, often counting on my fingers how many hours had passed with you waiting for me to return.

When detained, I often became panicky stating, "I have to go now," without further explanation… knowing you needed me, assuming they wouldn’t understand.

 I never felt resentful.  I only felt joyful anticipation at seeing your precious little furry face, sparkling eyes and the whimsical expression that I always thought was a smile.

When you’d hear us drive up, you’d anxiously scatter about the house, seeking a favorite toy for your mouth in order to present an acceptable greeting at the door.  And, if ever you weren’t there when we entered, it was only a result of my most recent tidying frenzy, which sent you digging in the huge bucket in DadDadDad’s closet, where surely they would have been placed. 

You’d frantically dig to discover the one that felt perfect for the moment and run at full speed to the door, tail wagging wildly and the prize in your mouth.  It could be your four foot yellow snake, your Tiger Woods, your Fred Flintstone, the dangling baby rattle or the giant soft brown teddy bear we lay beside you when we laid you to rest.

So I go on our walk each day, sometime twice, and miss the endless sniffing of each protrusion all the while reveling in your amazing ability to dribble yet another few drops on each and every point of interest where some other dog may have been before you.

Each meal I eat, by route, I leave a few little bites for you and then I remember. Lying on my back at night, a habit I acquired to accommodate your sleeping with your chin on the top of my foot, I don’t move, for fear of awakening you and then, I remember.  

We miss you WorldWideWillie.  Forgive us for beginning to heal.  It doesn’t mean we didn’t love you with all of our hearts.  It merely means that we want to replace our tears with laughter while telling endless stories of your life, however short in the realm of ours. 

And now, I count on my fingers, how many weeks you’ve been gone,  knowing full well that in time, I’ll stop counting… as our world without will go on but our love for you… will go on forever.